


forgive us our sins

by gabriphales



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23354440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: gabriel attempts to make things better with aziraphale
Kudos: 15





	forgive us our sins

**Author's Note:**

> wow this is like the only canon compliant post-canon thing i'll ever write,, rip to me this killed me

"I'm sorry, you know." Gabriel says, voice caught somewhere between monotone chastity, and a religious guilt. The kind of suffering to cleanse the floors of broken monasteries. Like holy water seeping from open wounds, the blood of a million angels spilled for the sake of only one. Aziraphale doesn't look at him. He doesn't even breathe.

When that anticipated exhale finally graces his lips, Gabriel's heart begins to hammer. A fierce pounding, hard enough he can feel it all the way in his temples, his stomach, his throat.

"I really am, I promise. I--I'm so sorry, I just--I couldn't have known, I didn't want to know. But I'm better now, I'm _nice_ now, you have to believe me. You just--you just have to--"

Aziraphale's palm is somehow both soft and sharp as it connects with the jut of his cheekbone. He's slapped him, Gabriel realizes far too long after the fact. A solid minute of silence passes, and Gabriel's holding all the air he doesn't need--but wants oh so badly--in his lungs. If he lets it go, he might never get it back. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to breathe again. Not after this, not after _this_.

"I don't have to do anything, Gabriel." Aziraphale quips, threateningly tempered, eerily calm. "You've done enough. Go home. _Now._ "

And Gabriel can't take that. He doesn't want to, and he's never settled for not getting everything he wants. His hands grip Aziraphale by his shoulders before he can stop himself, and he pulls him forward harsh enough to make him stumble. That's alright, he thinks. If anything happens he can just miracle it better. A scraped knee or bruised ankle is just more opportunity to show how severe Gabriel's shift in world view has become. He's changed, he's _pure_ , gentle enough to lead newborn fawns to a mother's milk.

"Let go of me!" Aziraphale seethes, his tone more smarting than the reddening handprint left behind to scourge into Gabriel's skin. He's angry, Gabriel can tell. But he's also scared, furious in the way a cornered dog will only bite back when it's reduced to safety in teeth and a foaming mouth. His voice is so small, so laced with a sheepish descent. Like he's still holding himself back. Not for fear of being too cruel, but for fear of what Gabriel might do to him should he cross any unexamined lines.

Gabriel obeys the demand. His fingers loosen their insistent grasp, and Aziraphale wiggles himself free. His brows furrow, mouth drawn up in the most disgusted, tight-lipped expression Gabriel could possibly imagine. His stomach sinks from the sight alone. That hot, shameful feeling of weight splitting him down the middle, complete humiliation.

"Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Don't even fucking _speak_. Just--just go away, I don't want you here. All you ever do is make things worse!" 

There's a spluttering in the back of Aziraphale's throat as he speaks, a wet sort of crackle, and Gabriel realizes he sounds like he's about to cry. He wants to comfort him, wants to be the one to soothe those trepid tears. Press his lips to the jaunting bones and busted fractures of the other's trust. 

But Aziraphale will never trust him again. And that's his fault. He's _right_ about Gabriel.

When Aziraphale turns on a dime, refusing to meet Gabriel's gaze until he's certain some time has passed, he lets his eyes squeeze shut. Painfully clamped, though not quite as painful as the effort of keeping them open would be. He hears a soft, delicate chime from behind him, and a rustling in the garden leaves. Gabriel's gone now, he knows he is. And he wants to mourn it, wants to mourn the apology he could have accepted. But he doesn't.

He doesn't, because he isn't sure if Gabriel would have ever mourned him.


End file.
